


Sense Between the Lines

by soranokumo



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Canon - Original Game, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-28
Updated: 2010-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soranokumo/pseuds/soranokumo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During Avalanche’s travels, Nanaki’s nose always revealed more about his traveling companions than the firelion was willing to let on about. Implied Sephiroth/Cloud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sense Between the Lines

It was something they just didn’t tend to think about, and Nanaki wasn’t inclined to say anything about the matter anyway. Humans weren’t as sensitive to smells and sounds the same way firelions were, and normally it had no consequence outside of battles. They could all agree that the smell of Tifa’s cooking, those rare nights the whole group was together, was excellent enough they had to double up guard shifts to make sure the smell didn’t lure any monsters closer. They could all agree that some sounds were best ignored, such as Cid’s obnoxious snoring.

They could all agree and get along, but there were still some things that humans weren’t aware they were broadcasting loudly and clearly to firelions.

Nanaki guessed he should amend that thought to the singular. His human companions on this journey were unaware of the signals they broadcasted, loudly and clearly, to a firelion. To him.

There were little smells, of course. Sweat and sometimes fear, depending on the situation, where they were traveling, what monsters they were up against. Tifa somehow managed to still carry around a bit of feminine product with her to scent herself, which he thought a bit silly because if he could smell it, he was certain the monsters could as well. Otherwise she was a strange combination of herbs and spices and work. Yuffie really smelled as young as she behaved, which was amusing and disconcerting all at the same time, considering what they were doing, what they were up against. Cid would never be able to wash the smell of the garage and the oil and stale smell of cigarettes off of him. Barret smelled of coal and earth and gunoil, and, faintly beneath all of that, something floral—a scent from the locket he carried of Marlene’s mother. Aerith, of course, smelled of earth and flowers, but unlike the manufactured smell of Tifa’s soaps and things, it seemed to come to her naturally and made her blend in with their natural surroundings more than stand out. It was only in cities that she seemed out of place, which was funny considering she had been raised in one. But then she had never smelled but faintly of the slums, even when he first encountered her in the Shinra Building.

Cait Sith smelled like a stuffed animal, all synthetic fur and fluff, but underneath the black and white cat’s smile there was the smell and sounds of complex machinery, whirring away. Even more of that came from the giant stuffed Moogle the cat rode upon, but Cait Sith was nominally an ally, anyway, and for the time being Avalanche seemed content not to question how the cat moved—just why the cat did what it did.

Vincent smelled of old chemicals and dusk and guns and, very, very faintly, cigarettes. He always smelled like danger, and it took Nanaki time to grow used to him and the way Vincent could make his hackles rise if he wasn’t paying attention to the things that set Vincent apart from the way the Turks smelled.

Then, of course, there was their leader, and his smells were the strangest of all.

There was the scent of chemicals and Mako so strong off of Cloud that Nanaki was surprised no one else’s noses had picked up on it at all. Maybe Vincent had—he remembered once coming across a Mako fountain and having to rub his nose and Vincent had adjusted the mantle on his cape and ducked his head down. He usually responded to things faster than the others, too—the only one who rivaled either of them when it came to sensing things was, well… Cloud.

There was a constant taint of fear and paranoia on him, compounded on top with a chill so cold that Nanaki wasn’t surprised at all when they first stepped into Nibelheim. Cloud smelled of it, all right—the spirit of his hometown had sunk past his pores, into his bones and blood. Nibelheim wasn’t normal—it smelled of cold and Mako and dying pines. And there was the faintest edge of steel to him, that didn’t come from his equipment. The only time any of that was at all masked was when Cloud came out from the Chocobo Stables or that time he came out of the races, smelling like farm and grass and sunshine. It was strange, how much that took the chill out of him.

It never lasted long, though, and there was something more troublesome.

They all grew used to one another’s sleeping habits, of course. Cid snored, and Yuffie sometimes did as well, though much more softly. Barret did, but unless he was dealing with sinus issues it was never anything to rival Cid’s. Tifa and Aerith tended to sleep quietly and deeply, though Aerith was more prone to getting up at night and having to get a sip of water. Cait Sith became completely silent, save for the softest humming sound, so soft even Nanaki nearly missed it. He could only guess it was the sensor that alerted the robot into full operating mode. And Vincent rarely truly slept, sometimes awake at night just like Nanaki, listening.

When they were all together, in the wild, they all pretended to be generous and give Cloud another tent, or consider it worth the extra gil to get Cloud his own separate room. It was generosity; it was out of respect. Whatever reason they gave, it was a nice white lie to cover up the fact that Cloud, of late, had nightmares of the sort that he would wake the rest of them up.

A startled gasp, a choked scream, a scrabbling of hands at the blankets. A tent being ripped open, or a door being pushed open and steps staggering away into the night, sometimes to the bathroom, sometimes just away from the camp, just away. Vincent and Nanaki would strain their hearing, listening.

Those times, at least, Nanaki knew what was happening. He could hear Cloud return calmer, his footsteps and breathing more regular. He would fall back asleep, and sometimes spend the rest of the night peacefully, unaffected. He was just getting away, to deal with his nightmares, and to remind himself he was awake. Nanaki was sure of it. And if Cloud had nightmares, well, no one could blame him for it, considering his past.

Then there were the other times.

Nanaki would be curled up, asleep or close enough to it, catnapping as it were, his instincts alert as always for the unexpected. And then there would be the softest of sounds. He would flick an ear, open his one good eye, raise his head and listen.

The softest of sounds, and then the deepest of silences. It would stretch outward so that every moment of that silence smothered any possible sound, even the ticking of time, the passing of seconds.

Sometimes, when they were camping outside, Nanaki was certain Cloud had somehow managed to leave them entirely without anyone knowing. He never really knew, however, until he heard Cloud’s return, usually marked by the tent being zipped open and shut again. That was usually it; he could never hear Cloud’s breathing, not then.

At the inns, Nanaki wasn’t certain. He tried, once, to get up and lie outside of the door, and listen, or wait for Cloud to come out.

He never heard a window or some secret door. So he never knew if Cloud left or not, but he knew better than to scratch at the door, to clear his throat, to try to go inside and check on him.

He would instead pad back to the room he shared with whoever else, and if Vincent was there he knew that Vincent’s crimson gaze would meet his own, and the former Turk wouldn’t nod, exactly, but would seem to acknowledge Nanaki’s own conclusion.

Something was happening. They didn’t dare actually say what.

But they knew. Nanaki would always know, the next morning, when, at camp, Cloud would invite him to go roaming with him to refill their canteens. Cloud would seem his normal, quiet self, and everything would be outwardly normal. Nanaki was convinced that the others could feel something was off but humans were very good at overriding their own instincts, and ignoring what it was they sensed even if they did pick up on it.

That smell, that lingered on Cloud’s skin no matter how well he washed—that smell, that clung to him, caught up under the fingernails of Cloud’s hands, which only bothered Nanaki even more because Cloud always had his gloves on, always, whenever he saw him—that smell—

It wasn’t simply sweat. It wasn’t simply musk. It wasn’t simply blood.

It was more than that. It was pain, and bizarrely enough it was joy. It was sharp and metallic and cruel, at the same time it was euphoric.

It wasn’t just sex. It was more than that.

And Nanaki could smell it, like its own brand of ownership, deep in Cloud, sunk into him like the smell of Nibelheim. Perhaps even deeper than that.

Nanaki never said a word. He didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t think any of them did, or had any idea how to stop it. Cloud was hellbent on finding the Black Materia now. He was hellbent on stopping Sephiroth. He led them forward, and they followed, because they couldn’t not follow him anymore.

Nanaki couldn’t explain it. He trusted Cloud—he knew he did, as did all the others—but he found himself growing more afraid of Cloud the closer they got to the Temple of the Ancients.

He couldn’t think of what to do. So in the mornings, when Cloud invited him to accompany him as he went to fill up their water canteens, Nanaki came along with him. And when Cloud unknowingly flinched away from him, Nanaki only answered by butting his nose against Cloud’s hand, and resting his head against Cloud’s thigh. Because he could smell it, all of it, whatever it was, and he knew Cloud didn’t know he could, might not understand why Nanaki insisted on Cloud scratching him behind the ears, running his fingers through his mane. But he also knew that that made the tension in Cloud’s muscles relax, ever so slightly, made Cloud breathe a little easier.

It was what kindness he could give, what comfort he could offer, without giving it all away.

**Author's Note:**

> I think characters like Nanaki are one of the few times we really get the chance to characterize people with smells that can be as symbolic as they are real without it being too over-the-top—all the same, it’s hard to keep the scents from being too predictable.
> 
> One will note, however, that there’s never any mention of Sephiroth and pineapple in here.
> 
> Apologies for the horrible title.


End file.
